Inside the underground palace of the Imperial Mausoleum, in an incredibly new and majestic Great Hall.
The atmosphere became eerily silent.
A beautiful woman with autumn eyes had a purple sword hovering over her shoulder.
A young girl with peach-blossom eyes was holding a severed arm.
And a well-endowed lady with snow-white eyes, her garments swirling with the wind of joy.
Confronted with the brand-new arrangement within the empty Great Hall.
The air between the three women was a bit tense.
Zhao Qian'er opened her mouth but finally bit her lip hard, bowing her head, suppressing the restless emotions in her chest, refraining from questioning the lady and Zhu Yourong.
The severed arm in her embrace seemed to sense the force with which the young girl was holding it.
Blood kept dripping, forming a string, falling onto the cold floor.
